


this is how cities fall (you start by eating the heart)

by TheTartWitch



Series: One-shots of AUs [28]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackouts, Bullying, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Gryffindor is not good, Magical Violence, Maybe not graphic, Memory Loss, Mood Swings, Sev and Reggie have got a friendship, Sev cusses Pettygrew the f out, Slytherin is not evil, Slytherins stand by each other, but warning all the same, cursing someone without knowing the effects of said curse, down with dumbledore actively ignoring bullying, gonna let you figure that one out right now, it could be an actual ship??, madam pomfrey is not down with that shit, the marauders are always so f-ing proud of going too far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: Peter, fecking idiot that he is, starts laughing.“He’s crying like a baby!” He goes, and Malfoy’s eyebrow twitches up one notch in Murder Territory. He grins like a shark, like something made of teeth, and Sirius’ brother’s shoulders tense as he shields Snivellus with his body, who stops crying to whip out his wand and, in a feat of marksmanship the Slytherins clearly hadn’t thought him currently capable of, turns Peter’s knees around, and he’s not gentle about it either.





	this is how cities fall (you start by eating the heart)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic talks about some gross-nasty, potentially triggering stuff. There are warnings for stuff in the tags (let me know if something needs to be added) and a brief summary in the end notes if you wanna know what you're getting into.

He is alone in the halls when the itch first begins. It’s on his left arm, the inside of his wrist, and the small red speck glares at him malevolently from its corona of pale skin. He swears softly, glances around to make sure none of his housemates saw such a display, and tugs his sleeve down. He has no doubt it’s a prank of some kind, though he’s unsure of what kind just yet. 

\--

He’s in potions when the effects really begin to show. The rash spreads from a slight pin-prick on his wrist to an amorphous blob scaling the inner lining of his arm. His fingers are twitching slightly, a small shudder causing his ingredients to drop in a noticeably hazardous way into his cauldron or throwing off his chopping by uneven, unpredictable amounts. He growls at himself under his breath, shakes his hand in the air as though he’s been splashed with something too hot to bear. The rash burns, too, a dull throbbing pain haunting his system. He winces as he turns to the side table to fetch a root for chopping and catches Black pantomiming an arm injury and theatrically shaking one hand over his cauldron for the other three. He growls again and turns quickly back to his own work station.

\--

After Potions he retreats the edge of the Black Lake to do homework under a tree. He knows that they follow him, slavering for a result to entertain them after waiting through the drudgery of Potions. He attempts to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck as he settles into the shade of a willow, helpfully not a Whomping one.

He settles his books out close beside him, wary of a foot kicking the stack over or the topmost book somehow “disappearing” and being returned at some point full of graffiti and crude drawings. His sleeve rides up as he’s arranging his bag, and he pauses to stare down at the burned-red skin of his elbow. It’s climbing up his arm, he thinks, and after a pause to glance around for gawkers, he tugs at the collar of his robes. The top layer easily unbuttons, revealing the lower layer of white button-up shirt and black dress pants. He unbuttons his dress shirt also, and watches the rash climb its way up his shoulder and release small blooms across his chest. He goes to touch it and gasps through his teeth at the feeling of it, like a soreness after vigorous exercise. He flops onto his back, feeling lethargic and slow, and letting the cooler autumn air wash the heat off of his skin. 

\--

After a few days of changing in the bathrooms once the others were done or on his bed with the curtains drawn shut, he decides he needs something else. The rash, while hot and itchy, had become extremely sensitive to the fabric of his dress shirt and robes and was turning odd colors reminiscent of bruising. Even the act of dressing left him biting his lip to avoid crying out, but he’d failed a few times and now some of his dorm mates studied him with calculating glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. It didn’t help that the rash hadn’t stopped spreading yet and was now covering nearly the entirety of Severus’ chest like a child coloring in a drawing of a spindly, pale man with blotchy paint.

He debated going to Madame Pomfrey but ultimately decided against it. What would he say if she asked where he got it? Despite the Marauders hardly being  _ shy _ most of the teachers turned a blind eye to their less-than-scrupulous activities and he wasn’t sure she’d believe him or just accuse him of trying to blemish the four boys’ spotless reputation with his lies. Perhaps he could say it was an allergic reaction? But no, she’d want to know what caused the effect and he could hardly tell her it was a spell and that he didn’t know what spell it was without arousing suspicion. 

In all honesty, however, he needed a solution. He’d been strange lately, going from calm in the mornings to suddenly dreadfully angry the others had left him behind again and destroying the dorm room with magic, only just recovering himself enough to have everything in its proper place by the time the others returned, or going to the Lake to study only to wake from a sudden nap to find he’d slept for nearly five hours despite a full night of sleep last night and was going to be late for curfew if he didn’t hurry. He had blank patches in his memory, losing minutes at a time, and in the shower his fingers came away with more hair after shampooing than he grew back. Something was very wrong.

The Marauders knew about it of course, sneering when he stumbled dazedly back up the steps and laughing openly when he snarled at them in the halls. Once, they’d tripped him on the steps to the Owlery and he’d sat at the top and cried and felt hopeless and terrible. It frightened him. He hadn’t cried since he was five (fifteen, and Lily was telling him she’d been wrong to care about him). 

\--

Lucius has been watching Snape for a few days now after catching a glimpse of that awful bruise on his chest that day out at the Lake. He’d been content to let Snape handle the Gryffindors by himself until then, but clearly things were progressing past his ability to control them. It was time for Slytherin to step in. 

Once he’d explained the situation to the other upper-year Slytherins they’d been of accord, and the next morning Slytherin House sat in dark and tense silence. As agreed, Rosier and Avery and little Black sat near Snape and surreptitiously kept an eye on him while the rest of the Slytherins employed intimidation tactics against the Gryffindors. 

Slytherin and Gryffindor, perhaps in a fit of foresight, sat on opposite sides of the Hall. Hufflepuff, closest to Slytherin, went very quiet and still themselves at the force of Slytherin’s glare. Across the Hall Gryffindors began to take notice and soon enough the Marauders were glancing up too, looking for themselves to try and see what had got the snakes up in arms. Snape, fortunately or unfortunately, was in one of his stranger moods and was studying his breakfast with his fork, cycling it around and around on his plate like a man possessed. Little Black tugged his fork from his hands nervously and replaced it with a glass of water, which Snape studied for a moment before dribbling it quietly onto his plate to study the effect of it on his mashed potatoes.

\--

Lucius and a few of the upper-years made sure to corner the Quartet of Foolishness where there would be no untimely interruptions. 

“Potter,” He greeted cordially, keeping the ice from his tone until the brats got it into their heads that their fun was over. The lion inclined his head and hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder. Black’s hand snuck into his pocket and clenched around something; his wand, most likely. Lucius didn’t give them a chance to respond more than that.

“The game is over. Do you understand? We’ve been kind enough to ignore you until now, but that’s done.” He let himself take on the mantle of something very cold and very scary and very, very pissed off. It got easier as he watched their faces, still haughty and childish and so convinced they were invincible. Potter snapped something about the group’s ignorance and Black growled something stupid to back his leader up, but Lucius was serious this time and if they didn’t back down and shut up he was going to  _ break something _ . Elegantly, of course, and in such a way so that none of them could prove his guilt, but he was partial to people, himself. Much like they were.

Warrington stepped forward and caught Lupin’s robes in one large, bulging fist. 

“I think you’ve misunderstood me,” Lucius cooed, stepping into Potter’s space and letting his hand slide up the other boy’s arm to snag suddenly around his wand. His own wand kissed the underside of Black’s chin when he made to swing his fists like an animal. “No more of your little hobby, the pranks on poor Severus. You went too far this time, bruising him like that, and Slytherin won’t sit by idly anymore. You’re courting House war with your behavior, precious Potter, brilliant Black, and if you don’t consider your actions from this point on someone’s going to get hurt.”

And then, allowing his almost-threat to hang in the air (dreadfully blatant, but then again Gryffindors weren’t really good with anything else), he pulls away and walks off down the hall, the other Slytherins following. Warrington drops the wolf’s robes and lumbers after them, grinning something bloodthirsty. They all know the Gryffindors won’t stop. They’ll test Lucius’ boundaries, attempt small things before building back up to their usual speed and strength. Unfortunately for them, when Lucius says Slytherin’s done, he means it. Full stop. 

They won’t stop, all of Slytherin knows it. But the fun thing about warnings is it means no one can complain that they weren’t aware the game was in session when it’s all over and bridges have burned. 

\--

He doesn’t really remember breakfast outside of contemplating a new combination of potion ingredients and getting some kind of sloppy mess all over his clothes. Regulus had helped him wipe it off, looking uncharacteristically emotional, and looked guilty whenever he tried unsuccessfully to hide his flinch when they had to wipe over the rash. 

“Sorry, sorry,” He kept murmuring nervously and avoiding Severus’ eyes, which Severus meant to ask about but his fingers kept shaking and then he was distracted by the fascinating faucets of the sinks and Regulus seemed to fade out of view. 

\--

The rash keeps growing. It pulls itself up his shoulder and slides down his abdomen to pool across where his stomach must be. It hurts more; he starts taking pain relievers. It’s edging into purple hues; he doesn’t think about what that means. His moments of lucidity are getting further and further apart, and he often loses himself in hazes of potions and studying objects. At one point he undresses himself to talk a shower and ends up spending an hour and a half watching water come out of the faucets in absolute mystification until Regulus comes to sit him down and help him wash. He can’t remember things anymore: once, Regulus asks how Eileen is doing while they’re sitting in the Common Room doing homework, and Severus stares at him in confusion. 

He makes the mistake of letting Regulus see the red in his urine once. The boy’s face turns absolutely pale and he shakily pulls Severus over to Malfoy’s table to whisper with him. Severus should probably pay attention; he stares at the snake patterns in the table, marveling at how they interlock to leave no snake partial and no spot empty of them. 

Malfoy stands after a while, a furious smile on his face, and several others stand with him. Severus blinks at them curiously, but passively allows them to lead him to what turns out to be Madam Pomfrey’s office. As they approach the door he feels that nebulous anger rise inside him and his body thrashes against his escorts. When the fit ends with him sobbing against a wall with Regulus’ arms around him, he lets Warrington carry him the rest of the way. 

Madam Pomfrey is blindingly iridescent with fury after listening to his halting, confused explanations and Regulus’ more complete one. She sends an elf for the Golden Four as Severus rambles to Regulus, “don’ even know why they get along, you know, there’s only supposed to be one male in a pride” and Regulus listens seriously and doesn’t think he’s weird or stupid and he’s suddenly so grateful to this younger boy who gains nothing from his kindness for staying with him that he bursts into tears on the spot. 

This is, of course, the scene the Lions walk in on: their enemy quibbling in a chair, telling Sirius’ younger brother how thankful he is for their friendship, and various thugs of Slytherin scattered around the room, wincing sympathetically at the normally acidic boy’s display. Madam Pomfrey is off to one side, pretending to be blind to Severus’ outburst, glaring bloody murder at the four of them standing awkwardly in the doorway. 

Peter, fecking idiot that he is, starts laughing. 

“He’s crying like a baby!” He goes, and Malfoy’s eyebrow twitches up one notch in Murder Territory. He grins like a shark, like something made of teeth, and Sirius’ brother’s shoulders tense as he shields Snivellus with his body, who stops crying to whip out his wand and, in a feat of marksmanship the Slytherins clearly hadn’t thought him currently capable of, turns Peter’s knees around, and he’s not gentle about it either. 

“ _ You little rodent, _ ” Severus hisses, standing gingerly, talking over Peter’s whimpery screams, “ _ You vile pestilence, I ought to have hexed your hands to your arse so you could truthfully tell people you’d found it. I ought to stick your face to some poor cow’s teats so you could tell people truthfully that at least something had let you touch their breasts, but I fear you’d infest the cow with whatever parasites are living where your brain might once have been. _ ”

Nott appears to have been taking notes; Madam Pomfrey is still standing to the side, looking exceptionally unforgiving. Malfoy’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. 

“Severus-” Remus begins, but Severus levels his wand at him and the boy falls silent. The Slytherin turns to Madam Pomfrey, his wand dropping. “Please attempt to fix this before I lose control of myself again.” He’s clearly struggling to stay calm. She nods and sweeps him into a backroom, shutting the door with a resounding finality.

Malfoy peers at them as it closes, twirling his wand in his fingers. His cronies peel themselves from the walls, grinning like they’ve been waiting for this all week. 

“Do you know why we’re here?” Malfoy says conversationally, smiling as though they’re just making friendly conversation. Sirius and James glance at each other grimly, taking up positions. Remus doesn’t move, staring down at the floor. The Slytherins level their wands.

“He was pissing blood,” Malfoy continues, the vulgarity in his high-class accent coming out tainted. “It’s only right we let you experience the same, don’t you think?”

Peter is still crying on the floor, clutching at his legs and making odd squeaking noises between gasps. Madam Pomfrey had made no move to heal him; Remus is beginning to think that may have been mercy on her part.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Marauders curse Severus with a specific curse without knowing the full effects, meaning to only cause a temporary painful rash and unaware that it’s accompanied by side-effects. He gets a rash that itches and then burns as it spreads from his arm to his chest, where it causes periods of hyperfocus/inability to concentrate, hair loss, blackouts, and, as it spreads across the chest and down the abdomen, reddening urine and painful muscle spasms. The Slytherins find him peeing red in the dorms during one of his fuzzy periods and have to carry him to the hospital wing trying not to freak him out, where they get violent with the Marauders to teach them a lesson.]


End file.
